


remember (me)

by choicolatte



Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M, college frat-party au, heavy 2jae angst/comfort, implied complicated relationship.. but does it get fixed?, mentions of marijuana use, mentions of mental health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22606909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choicolatte/pseuds/choicolatte
Summary: Warm and ice meet; they melt into each other and give a little bit more life to the other. How it was supposed to be. How it's not anymore.
Relationships: Choi Youngjae/Im Jaebum | JB
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	remember (me)

**Author's Note:**

> a lil bit personal,  
> but oh well
> 
> i missed writing angst. be forewarned it's pretty dark (and terrible? writing?)

Sometimes, you just don’t want to think about it. 

It was his fourth shot — maybe fifth? If you counted the pre-set jello shot Bambam made him try before the party even began. At first, Youngjae was reluctant — there was no way he’d get himself wasted after that one incident from two years ago. 

He remembered it too well, the churning of acid in his stomach every hour and the putrid smell of the one bathroom he had shared with Bambam and Yugyeom at the time they had to ask for cleaning service to freshen up the place again. Youngjae thought that his friends would _never_ allow him near the stench of alcohol any longer, but maybe it was because they had separated living spaces since then; maybe it was because Youngjae had been holed up in his single room, single apartment for far too long that he needed to loosen his senses and relive better days. 

Maybe it was because Youngjae has been thinking too much lately, about everything that has happened ever since then, and nothing that he believed he was good for in the future all at the same time. Maybe Youngjae needed a drink or two — or five. 

“Maybe you can take a little breather, hyung,” Yugyeom comments, rubbing slow circles around Youngjae’s back to calm him down. 

He wipes the excess jello sticking to the side of his lips, the sting of vodka still streaming down his throat he almost forgets how to breathe. Youngjae shoves the looming sense of fainting from the overstimulation of his senses away from his facade and grins. He takes puffs of breath in Yugyeom’s way which the younger responded with disgust on his face. 

“Are you still good for the night? You can crash in the room if you’re too messed up,” Yugyeom grits his teeth, not wanting to seem disrespectful in front of his friend but needing desperately to get away from the drunken scent emanating from Youngjae’s mouth. 

“I’m fiiine,” Youngjae drawls, draping his arm around Yugyeom. The younger crouched down, knowing how much taller he was than Youngjae but also afraid he might trip and cause a scene unwarranted by him, and everyone else involved. 

“Okay, but I don’t trust you, hyung.” Yugyeom slips out of Youngjae’s grasp and leads him away from the crowd. Shouting over the music continues to ring inside Youngjae’s ears, but he smiles through the intoxication in his mind and laughs it off. He feels _weightless_ , if anything, and Youngjae has never felt this loose in a long while. 

“Here, freshen up in the bathroom and lie down on my bed. Just — if you need to throw up, there’s a trash bin you can carry with you so just place it next to the bed. Don’t ruin my sheets, please, hyung. I’m begging you.” 

“You’re an adorable little baby,” Youngjae mewls, cradling Yugyeom’s face in his sweaty hands. He tiptoes once more, but his foot slips against the hardwood floor as his body slams into Yugyeom’s chest. They collide against the wall, and Youngjae feels a bubbling laughter coming out of his chest as his arms find comfort around the younger’s waist. 

“You’re actually a big baby — with squishy skin. I like your skin, Yugyeomie. Let me hold you like this more.”

“God, hyung, you’re _really_ out of it,” Yugyeom sighs, a tiny scream of panic holding off in his throat. He doesn’t remember Youngjae ever acting up this way at all — even during that one night when he swore off of drinking, Youngjae was more of a loud drunk than the touchy type. Yugyeom wonders in that moment what had changed, or maybe it really was just the shock of too much in Youngjae’s system that is making him be the way he is: different, unusual, needy. 

Youngjae looks up at a blurred image of Yugyeom. He blinks away and tears pool above his cheeks. Everything feels warm, from his face to the confines of his body in a sweater and jeans. Yugyeom senses the exhaustion finally creeping up at his friend, so with a hopeful sigh he hurries him inside the bathroom — god knows why the lights have been on this entire time — and shuts the door just as quick. 

“Vomit all you want in there before you sleep in my bed, hyung! Have a good night!” Yugyeom shouts through the barrier, and Youngjae thinks he hears footsteps echoing from the hall but the muted booming of music coming from the living room seeps into the creaks underneath the door. Youngjae suddenly doesn’t know where he was led into, the faraway sensation inviting him with dread and anxiety. He knows there’s a party, he knows he was _in_ that party, but all he sees is bright, white tiles and a mirror showing the face of a tired, and helpless guy asking for help with his dilated eyes. 

“You look like shit.” 

It’s something Youngjae will definitely tell himself in front of the mirror every day before going to class, but Youngjae very well can see how chapped, and more importantly closed off his lips have been ever since staring into his reflection. Someone clears their throat, and Youngjae swears he’s the only person in this square of a room until his head cranes to the side. 

“Should I be offended by that?” Youngjae slurs, eyes suddenly heavy for focusing too much on a person he’s trying to identify. There was a certain familiarity found in the stone on his nose, and the piercings resting on the side of his upper left cheek. He languidly repositions himself on the floor, bringing in his other leg up to rest his arm on. Youngjae follows the movement above his knee, a pen being flipped in between his pointer and middle finger. 

A cloud of smoke appears before him, the smell barely touching Youngjae’s own nose. He chokes in his own confusion, eyes tearing up once more. 

“It depends if you like looking like shit,” Jaebeom answers back nonchalantly. The name just suddenly appears in Youngjae’s mind as if he had already known from the start he’d be here. 

“Want a hit?” 

“I - I think I’ll be okay. Yugyeom said I should freshen up,” Youngjae suddenly feels the pressure of sobering up, the presence of Jaebeom in the tiny quarters not making it any easy on him to _stop_ thinking, and just go with it. He turns the faucet on, and splashes his face with daring cold water. Youngjae spits out some that seeped through his lips, and tore a piece of paper towel to pat dry his face. He throws it in the can, and looks back at his reflection in the mirror.

Not any better. Youngjae frowns, coherent thoughts not seeming to register in his mind. He should leave, maybe gargle some mouthwash and apply a little bit of lip balm on his lips, then go into Yugyeom’s room just like he was told. He knew he was asked to do _that_ much, but his body was weak and his arms were limp: his mind wasn’t helping, either.

There comes a point where absolutely not thinking about anything will make you paranoid more than give you a sense of liberation. Youngjae never knew how to handle not thinking about what he looked like, what he smelled like, how he seemed like he was about to faint on the tiled floor of the bathroom and possibly hit his head with the edge of the toilet seat. 

Youngjae, himself, was always on edge for the next decision; the next thing on his to-do list, the next course of action he would take if things went south. Youngjae never liked being _unsure_ ; he never liked not having control of what his thoughts or emotions would do to him. He hated the uncertainty, hated being a victim of his own rash and careless decisions. 

But Youngjae couldn’t think about any of that right now. Youngjae couldn’t even form one single thought that could help him get out of the bathroom and into warm, and inviting covers. This Youngjae wants to do the first thing his body leads him to do — this Youngjae sits right in front of Jaebeom and snatches the pen away taking a hit immediately after. 

“Remember that feeling?” Jaebeom teases him, a smirk hinting on his lips. Youngjae hates it; hates the fact that it’s the _first_ detail he noticed with much clarity from his mind, and he hates that he recognizes it even after all this time. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t give Jaebeom that sweet recognition of having Youngjae wrapped around his slick fingers like that. 

He puffs out another cloud of smoke, holding in a cough as his eyes tear up even more. 

“I thought you were done with parties ever since that night,” Jaebeom comments instead, gaze never faltering from Youngjae’s heavy lidded eyes. He watches as a single tear cascades down Youngjae’s flushed cheeks, and Jaebeom resists the urge to wipe it away with the coldness of his fingertips. 

Warm meets ice. He doesn’t want to melt just yet. 

“I can do whatever I want.” 

Jaebeom lifts an eyebrow, that wasn’t something he’d ever guess to come out of Youngjae’s mouth. Well, on the contrary, sure — in the bedroom, where the lights fade to black, and the curtains are drawn in for the world not to witness this secret side of him: this overwhelmingly _different_ side of Youngjae. 

Jaebeom misses that, but it’s been a year since he even last saw Youngjae’s face so he was so, _so_ close to forgetting the feeling — to forgetting the thought of feeling Youngjae against him, _in_ him that way. He should be angry, honestly, should be laughing humorlessly at how fate brings them back together, like this. 

Youngjae inhales a deep breath and feels it burn where it should until he releases another glass of smoke in between him and Jaebeom. It’s fitting, really, how they haven’t said a single word, haven’t seen an inch of each other’s hair the past twelve months and here they are — back where they started. Back where it all began: so innocently, but so much in store for the both of them. 

Youngjae stops thinking about it, and almost brings the pen back in between his lips until Jaebeom takes it away from him. 

“Slow down, I don’t want you passing out in front of me. Also, this is my last one for the week. I’m trying to save it up,” Jaebeom warns him, twirling the pen around his fingers once more before tucking it inside his pocket. He notices Youngjae pouting at the absence of the wax pen in the conversation, but Jaebeom knew better than to give in so easily anymore. 

But he tries his luck. 

“You want to smoke a real blunt, Youngjae? You said you would, do you remember? I’m still waiting for that day to happen,” Jaebeom says slowly, peering into Youngjae’s darkened gaze and parted lips. His heart starts to beat louder than his breathing, but Jaebeom dismisses it as the effect of his vice and continues to watch the younger process his words. 

“I thought that was your last one of the week, Jaebeom. Such a fascinating liar you still are, aren’t you?” Youngjae counters, his legs stretched forward encompassing Jaebeom in between. His clasped hands cross against his chest, wanting a form of warmth and security to fold him in; it was as if he let go of himself, he’d fall right back into Jaebeom. 

“I didn’t mean right now, Youngjae. Some other time when Mark comes in with the new stuff,” Jaebeom says patiently. “I still owe you a lot of things that I can repay if you come over.” 

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” Youngjae exhales, blinking away the excess tears still managing to paint his cheeks wet and glossy. He tastes salt on his lips, and he licks around it in an attempt to keep him from saying anything else. He feels the rise and fall of his chest a little harder now, a little more rushed than before. Youngjae breathes in and out, not wanting to experience the kind of exhilaration that made him believe this was it; that he was about to die. 

He thinks he’s on the verge of feeling just that, when Jaebeom comes in closer, too much into his space and his lips too plump and puckered up for him not to say anything. He reaches out a hand to shove him away, but Youngjae’s mind betrays him when Jaebeom only lifts his hands in front of him and wipes away the wetness on his face. 

“Your eyes keep watering.” 

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” Jaebeom retreats back to his own space, and the air suddenly feels heavy and not because of the weed. Youngjae touches the spots that Jaebeom had, a fine line between his own skin and Jaebeom’s icy cold fingertips. Youngjae hates it; hates that he was already anticipating how cold it was going to be but he didn’t flinch; he hates how much he needed to balance that heat from his body with Jaebeom’s incredulously frigid touch. 

Maybe that’s why he’s been thinking too much. He’s been thinking too much about someone else experiencing the same kind of anticipation, the same kind of excitement forming in the pit of his stomach, sending him into a frenzy no one else could but Jaebeom. 

“You don’t want me to stop.”

“I do,” Youngjae’s voice falters in his defense. He looks straight into Jaebeom’s eyes, the same hue of darkness surrounding his orbs. He hitches a tiny breath, but the tinier room enveloping their two bodies made Jaebeom more wary of every move Youngjae made in front of him. He sees it; sees him trying to catch his breath and not give in to him, not to give into each other. He sees Youngjae, and the way that he just plopped right in front of him without warning, grabbing his pen and grazing their fingers slightly enough to make Jaebeom want more; he sees Youngjae daring him to go in closer with his lips, _excruciatingly_ closer until no air passes through them anymore. 

Jaebeom sees the lies in Youngjae’s face. This time, _he’s_ the one being honest with himself, Youngjae isn’t. 

“Then say it, Jae. Say the words, and I’ll get the fuck out of here and never see you again,” he tests him. 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Youngjae seethes, the thought of Jaebeom completely vanishing suddenly terrorizes his being; he shakes his head for clarity, but his vision is a mosaic of bathroom tiles and Jaebeom standing up and reaching over to him. Youngjae can’t think anymore, but he can feel himself being pulled and backed up against the wall. 

He looks like shit, his lips are chapped and his eyes haven’t slept in three days. His friends, Bambam and Yugyeom, invited him to this party because they haven’t heard from him in a week: haven’t seen him in any of the classes they are in together. 

Jaebeom isn’t any different. When he entered the apartment, Bambam had immediately side eyed him and then side hugged Jackson. The tension was imminent, the looming assumption of staying away from Youngjae apparent —

but Jaebeom didn’t find him now, did he? 

“Tell me to leave, and I will go right now,” Jaebeom whispers, towering over Youngjae. He tries to act nonchalant, tries to make himself believe more than Youngjae that he doesn’t care if he’s ultimately unwanted from his life anymore. But really, Jaebeom is scared. Jaebeom has been scared ever since his texts have been ignored, his calls have been missed, and their unintentional dates nonexistent from calendars anymore. 

“Don’t make this hard, Jaebeom,” Youngjae tries to say back, his head whipped to the side refusing to stare back. 

If you asked him a year ago, he’d drop everything in his wake just to be able to look at Jaebeom and only at him. No one in the room, no other sound other than their hearts coming into sync, their chest heaving right against each other; no shirt, no secrets with one another, but them together being the biggest secret of it all. 

“Is it not obvious enough, Jae? You’ve sobered up enough to know it is,” Jaebeom says, taking off his grasp onto Youngjae’s arm and grabbing hold of his chin. He motions him to look, and surprisingly Youngjae is limp with just the touch of him so near, so close to his lips. 

“We’re not good together. We never were,” Youngjae argues. 

“We were young, dumb, and stupid. I went to counseling, Jae. Remember the night we kept fighting about my anger issues? I went to sort through that shit out. They figured I had anxiety, too — the pen is supposed to help, that’s mostly the reason why I use it now.” 

“And the blunt talk? Was that just to get a rise out of me— to try and get me to be in your life again?”

“Well — do you not want to? Do you not want to be in my life anymore?”  
  


It’s true Jaebeom was mostly angry, and it’s unfair to not include the fact that it was never, ever because of Youngjae. It was a lot about other things: his major, his workload, his divorced parents, his own self-esteem. Jaebeom was mostly angry at himself, and Youngjae can only do so much and think about the right words and the right things to do. 

He suggested anger management classes: they’re free, and he was willing to join in a session or two to get Jaebeom acclimated without feeling isolated. It didn’t seem like a good idea to Jaebeom, but Youngjae was not prepared for that kind of reaction and so — they fought.

Suddenly, the anger was about Youngjae, and suddenly all the wrong things and wrong timings happening to Youngjae’s own career was because of Jaebeom. 

“It may not seem like it right now, but I’m better now, Jae,” Jaebeom mutters, letting go of Youngjae’s face to run his hand across his own. “I’m just here because — well, Jackson begged me to come, and I’ve been breaking my back with work and getting my GPA up before I graduate. I thought taking a break from being busy would be a good thing, but honestly all the noise and the people out there suffocated me, so I just ended up hanging around here and taking hits.” 

Youngjae doesn’t respond, his eyes still glassy and drooping but they continue to look everywhere _but_ Jaebeom. His chest heaves, carrying the weight of confusion constricting him. Jaebeom sighs, slipping one hand into his pocket as he twirls the pen within the fabric. It keeps him settled, calmed down, and grounded. Something that lets him know he’s breathing, alive, and that he can keep going. 

His other hand is still around Youngjae’s arm, and he debates whether or not to finally let him go if he’s not saying anything, but Jaebeom hasn’t been too honest with the reason why he’s here in the first place. The utmost reason. 

“And, also, I’m here because… I knew you would be. For a year, I didn’t want to know anything that happened to you, I guess. Everyone who knew didn’t really ask, either, Jackson was angry at me. Jinyoung almost dropped me as a friend, and Mark just… he stopped giving me weed,” Jaebeom chuckles in thought, but continues on. 

“But after a while, once I started taking shit seriously, and enrolling in the class — everyone just started gravitating back into my life. I wanted to apologize, and it took a while until I got Jinyoung to trust me again and let me crash in his place without hotboxing his room — I stopped alcohol and weed for six months until the day I got diagnosed. I haven’t been drinking, just taking the pen whenever things feel too much.” 

Youngjae remembers the amount of times Jaebeom has lied through his pretty mouth. 

Date night on a Saturday — no can do, he had an essay to submit before midnight. That’s fine, he’ll come over to bring food and let him do his work — once he’s there, he finds Jaebeom slumped on the chair with a bottle of honey whiskey drowned in half and the house stinking of regrets. 

He wasn’t an alcoholic, but his mind was definitely addicted to feeding himself hate — and believing everything it fed him. Youngjae got tired; the countless times he had to stay up late to keep pushing Jaebeom for better things, a brighter future. But he planned it that way; he knew that if he stayed as his constant and his rock, Jaebeom _will_ be better than this. He believed Jaebeom will change. 

And when he didn’t, and when Youngjae’s efforts of being the only support system that saw him through his worst and stuck through it no matter how dark it got… Youngjae just shut down. 

“I’m sorry for making you go through so much shit with me. I’m not asking you to tell me to fuck off or not for pity because I’ve realized how much I hurt you.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Jaebeom. You just don’t know,” Youngjae chokes, and it takes a second and a half for his brain to process the sobs blurring his vision completely and letting his heavy head fall into Jaebeom’s chest. It’s not quite like Yugyeom’s, tall and fit and friendly. 

Jaebeom felt like a home that Youngjae was so, so comforted by. Jaebeom’s chest and the arms suddenly wrapping themselves around him felt like the home Youngjae so badly wanted to live in, breathe in, rest assure his crazy planning mind that this, this is something he doesn’t need to worry about making a backup plan for. It was in Jaebeom where Youngjae believed he could _rest_ his uneasy ways of thinking, and just revel in the peace it brought him. Warm and ice meet; they melt into each other and give a little bit more life to the other. How it was supposed to be. 

Youngjae kept himself even busier than before. Took on more hours at work, applied at an internship and spent most of his weekends there, enrolled in way too many classes to squeeze in another major in his name. You’d think he was crazy to take on so much more than his physical body can handle. 

But without Jaebeom, without his sense of security Youngjae felt vulnerable; out in the open, Youngjae felt that anything can and will break him so easily. So he planned it out; planned out how hectic his life was going to be, and planned out how long his mornings should be to how many hours of sleep he should be having for each day of the week. 

It worked; having all these options laid out in front of him and knowing where to resort to if things suddenly got out of his control — Youngjae still had his plan, still had himself, and he knew what he’d do, feel, and say. 

Until he didn’t anymore. Until one day, he just laid on his bed with his body unmoving and his heart panicking from all the things he needed to do that day. Until that day that he didn’t eat, didn’t shower, and didn’t answer calls from work or his friends. It took a few days, but he got himself back on track — sort of. His manager had to cut his hours, his internship had to let him go, and he had to spend those extra hours at the tutoring center and avoiding the questions from worried friends. 

He remembers feeling exactly the same way after getting too inebriated to the point of poisoning in his body from it two years ago. The night him and Jaebeom just let it all out; the night when Youngjae didn’t have a backup plan after leaving Jaebeom in his apartment — so he went back to his and drank. Hard. It was the very thing he wanted to avoid, the reason why he was sleeping in Jaebeom’s apartment that night until Jaebeom just had to unleash on him. 

Youngjae doesn’t know where he is at anymore at this moment, he’s gotten himself caught up with schoolwork and his manager never asked what happened so he never told. A couple of new internship positions have opened up for the next semester, but Youngjae is afraid of thinking about it. 

Youngjae doesn’t know what to think anymore. 

“It’s okay, Jae. It’s okay, just let it out. It’s okay.”

“You’re a shithead, Jaebeom. An asshole, you bastard, inconsiderate prick,” Youngjae hiccups, punching aimlessly at Jaebeom’s shoulders to no avail. Jaebeom doesn’t say a thing, continues to rub circles around his back. 

Youngjae hates it; how he immediately knows it’s Jaebeom and not Yugyeom trying to calm him down; he hates how the familiarity of their bodies so chest to chest like this invigorates his senses of home again, of what home was. 

“I don’t know what to do, Jaebeom. I don’t know what to think. I’m so tired, I’m so fucking exhausted from everything,” Youngjae continues to whimper, his cries mellowing out to tiny hiccups. He keeps his eyes shut as the tears just let themselves pour down, his lips tasting salt and regrets. 

“You don’t have to. I’m sorry for pushing you to say something. I’m sorry, I know this is all too sudden. I wasn’t sure— I really didn’t think I’d get to talk to you tonight. Seeing you, I wanted to see you happy and then I would be okay with it.” 

“Why did we let it happen to us?” Youngjae stops him, lifts his head up to meet Jaebeom’s worried eyes. He doesn’t think about how even more shitty he looks with a tear-streaked face, reddened bruised cheeks from the rubbing against rough fabric and his mouth just parted, desperate. 

“We didn’t know any better, Jae. It doesn’t excuse how shitty I was, however, for that I will never forgive myself. But I’ve been trying, everyday. I hope you know that I don’t have any regrets being with you at the time, I only regret letting it go to shit,” Jaebeom admits, carding his fingers through Youngjae’s sweaty black locks. He wipes away the dried tears from his cheeks, careful not to bruise the fragile skin any further. 

He looks so sad, so fucking sad and it’s all his fault. Jaebeom feels like he’s not helping being here with him at all. 

“Should I call Yugyeom or Bambam? I think you need to rest, Jae.” 

“Will you leave? Will you be gone?” Youngjae sniffles, the thought of being put to sleep, and waking up not in his room and Jaebeom forever gone from his life was something he couldn’t seem to bear right now. 

Jaebeom bites his lip, unsure on what he should say: the truth, or what he thinks is for the best. 

“I don’t want you out of my life. I just need… time…. to think, but I don’t want you out. I want you to help me think things through,” Youngjae surmises, the fear in his eyes hoping to get through him. 

“I… I’d like that, I.. I’d really like that, Youngjae.” 

“I’m not promising anything,” Youngjae adds, but the panic dissipates once Jaebeom returns with his hands massaging his shoulders. The older pats the top of Youngjae’s head, patiently waiting for him to continue. 

“I don’t know what will happen after tomorrow, but all I know right now is I don’t want to think about this alone. It was always supposed to be the two of us.” 

“I know.” 

“So, please don’t leave just yet.” 

“Okay.” 

“Tuck me in bed, and call me in the morning? Please?” Youngjae asks, knowing that if Jaebeom _does_ physically stay in the room with Youngjae that his friends wouldn’t take it lightly. Warm meeting ice: they want to take it slow. 

Jaebeom brings him to the room next door, locking it softly while Youngjae slips into Yugyeom’s comforter. There was no need to turn the night light on as the curtains are letting through a stream of the moonlight right onto the bed. It shines on Youngjae’s face so ethereally, he doesn’t squint for it gives him more warmth. 

Jaebeom touches his hand, and Youngjae feels the balance is set again. He is sobering up ever so slightly, but sleep — sleep is finally welcoming him in, and the last seconds of his conscious mind is thinking of Jaebeom’s fingers wrapping around his; with a knowing squeeze that he’ll be with him in his dreams, and he’ll wake up with a call and a conversation. With the two of them. Not angry, not lost, both sober, both willing.

**Author's Note:**

> uhh tbh idk what this is
> 
> i haven't written in a month, i deactivated my twt, and now i just had the urge to write something upsetting and frustrating and 
> 
> idk 
> 
> i'm sorry ahh


End file.
